[Verse 1]
Yo, clockin’ in like a ghost in the machine,
Furloughed flow, but they still want the dream.
Politicians playin’ chess with our checks,
While I’m dodgin’ bills like a T-Rex.
Boss man barkin’ orders from his ivory tower,
Expectin’ full throttle on zero-hour power.
I’m grindin’ gears with no gas in the tank,
Feelin’ like a clown in a bankrupt bank.
They shut down the gov, now I’m shut out the dough,
Sippin’ ramen soup, watchin’ savings go low.
Idiots in suits, arguin’ over crumbs,
Leavin’ me hangin’ like a piñata, numb.
[Hook]
Furloughed funk, workin’ for free,
Boss wants my soul, but ain’t payin’ the fee.
Idiots can’t agree, leavin’ us in the lurch,
Next disrespect? I’ll turn him to a perch.
(Yeah, flippin’ him like a fish outta water!)
[Verse 2]
Boss hittin’ my line like a bad ex at midnight,
“Give it your all!” – man, that don’t sit right.
I’m unpaid labor, a volunteer slave,
Pushin’ pencils harder than a caveman in a cave.
He strolls in fresh, sippin’ latte supreme,
While I’m eatin’ dreams in this nightmare scheme.
Metaphors flyin’ like birds in a flock,
I’m a locked safe, but he wants the jackpot.
Politicos fightin’ over ego and pride,
Leavin’ folks furloughed, takin’ us for a ride.
Like a bad magic trick, poof – no paycheck,
Boss still demandin’, got me ready to wreck.
[Hook]
Furloughed funk, workin’ for free,
Boss wants my soul, but ain’t payin’ the fee.
Idiots can’t agree, leavin’ us in the lurch,
Next disrespect? I’ll turn him to a perch.
(Ha, slappin’ him silly like a cartoon brawl!)
[Bridge]
Hold up, breathe deep, count to ten,
Ain’t worth the jail time, but damn, what a spin.
Life’s a comedy show, furlough’s the punchline,
Boss cross the line? I’ll rhyme him offline.
From zero to hero, when the checks restart,
But ‘til then, I’m ghostin’ like a pro in the dark.
[Verse 3]
Back at the desk, feelin’ like a zombie horde,
Boss eyein’ me weird, like I’m on his board.
He disrespects once more, I’ll go Hulk on his desk,
Smash through the BS, put his ego to rest.
But keep it funny, like a slip on banana peel,
I’ll “hand” him a lesson, make him squeal.
Idiots in DC, playin’ hot potato with fate,
While I’m jugglin’ jobs, tryin’ not to be late.
Metaphors stackin’ like pancakes on a plate,
Furloughed feast? Nah, it’s empty crate.
One day we’ll rise, flip the script on ’em all,
‘Til then, laugh it off – don’t let the anger call.
[Hook]
Furloughed funk, workin’ for free,
Boss wants my soul, but ain’t payin’ the fee.
Idiots can’t agree, leavin’ us in the lurch,
Next disrespect? I’ll turn him to a perch.
(Yeah, comedy gold in this unpaid grind!)
Crual1
